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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855690">Deadfall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi'>Gryphonrhi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Advent Amnesty Stories [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Leverage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Horror, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, about that favor, running late as ever, this will be finished</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:49:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn always knew that if he called in Eliot Spencer's favor, it'd be because. even for hitters, he was in trouble.  It'd never crossed his mind that he'd have to call it in because of the family he'd left years before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Advent Amnesty Stories [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/597790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set three-four years after Nate and Sophie’s ‘retirement’, aka the shift to Leverage International.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first truck rolled into the clearing not long after dawn, bird song cutting off as two men emerged in a blare of advertisement for a car dealer and the smell of bacon and biscuits.  Three more vehicles arrived over the next few minutes, with more men, the drifting scents of coffee and fried food, and two more radio channels.  They exchanged greetings and breakfasts, unloaded the backs of their trucks to get vests, gloves and helmets on, and laid bets on football teams and how late the flatbed driver would be this time, as well as speculation as to how he was still employed.</p><p>The first papers came out at seven and the day’s work was quickly assigned out as sunlight filtered down through the pines and oaks.  The climbing harnesses and spikes came out and went on after that.  The first chainsaw roared to life about half an hour after sunrise; the first tree fell twenty minutes later, onto a path cleared of saplings and shrubs.</p><p>The first scream rose into the air an hour later.</p><p>The last whimper fell silent twelve minutes after that.</p>
<hr/><p>Blue and red lights were still painting highlights across Hardison and Parker’s hair as Eliot turned his personal phone back on.  Two missed calls, two voicemails, and one text message -- all from Quinn?</p><p>Parker asked, “What’s wrong?”  She also skipped ahead of him briefly, then dropped back to a walk, falling in on Hardison’s left and scanning ahead of them for trouble.</p><p>Eliot finished tapping in his password and put his hand up to ask for silence.  Hardison’s tactics were getting better; he glanced at a car window to see if there was a problem behind them, but he stayed in the middle of their wedge rather than distract Eliot’s attention.</p><p>The first voicemail had come in four hours ago, when Parker was busy planting evidence back in its original location and Eliot and Tara had been distracting the CFO who’d been trying to sell air patrol schedules.  The message was short and to the point:  “It’s Quinn; I need that favor.  How soon can you be in Clarksville, TN?  Call me.”</p><p>He’d left the second message forty-five minutes ago, when the police had just responded to the burglar alarm.  That time, Quinn’s voice was strained tight.  “Eliot.  When y’all finish the current job, I’m calling in that favor.  I’m going to need a lifeline.  I’m got exactly one decent family member, other than the wife he was smart enough to marry, and Mason vanished onto family property yesterday.  I’ll text you GPS coordinates as soon as I hang up, because Mace not coming out of the woods is nearly as wrong as you or me not managing it.  Police scanner says a ten-man logging crew vanished into the same area, as well as two surveyors.  I’d have sworn his father would never have let loggers in there.  Something’s gone wrong, and if this is what I’m afraid it is, I’m going to need some help that plays as rough as I do.”</p><p>There was a pause long enough that Eliot checked to be sure the voicemail hadn’t ended, then Quinn finally said, “I don’t care how weird this sounds, Eliot:  watch out for any fucking crows or scarecrows.  Tell your partners the same thing when they insist on coming and tell Parker I said to keep her taser handy.  Hardison… Hardison should get a lighter and some hairspray.  See you soon, I hope.”</p><p>Eliot stared at his phone when the message ended.  “Damn it, Quinn.  Crows and scarecrows?  What the hell?”  He pulled up the text anyway as they piled into the car and forwarded it to Hardison. “Y’all may not want to go on this one—”</p><p>Parker pulled out, staying at the speed limit only because of the dozen-plus cop cars still around.  “We’re going.  Quit arguing about that.  And I always have a taser, but we’re not getting a little dog .”</p><p>“Damn it, Parker, why would we--”</p><p>Hardison was already typing on his laptop in the back.  “After a dozen jobs with us, Quinn knows you have a taser, Parker.”  He whistled, long and low.  “GPS coordinates are in the middle of one thousand acres of forest, private property.”  He kept typing and added, “And I’m still looking, but satellite images look like nobody’s logged it in decades, Eliot.  So?  Details.”</p><p>“I’m the one who owes the favor,” Eliot started and cut over Parker to add, “and this one’s dangerous, Parker.  People are vanishing:  lumber crews do not just disappear without a trace—”</p><p>“Shit,” Hardison muttered, “I saw that on the local paper’s website… so that is part of this mess of Quinn’s?”</p><p>“He thinks it is.  Ten loggers, two surveyors, and a local named Mason, also known as Mace.  Guy’s Quinn’s cousin and Quinn’s worried enough he’s going in after him.  But he thinks it’s gonna get ugly.  Thirteen already missing?  He’s probably right.”</p><p>Hardison sounded distracted but reasonable.  Already digging into everything, knowing him.  “Yeah, well, we’re good at getting even and leaving folks alive.  So we’re going.  Damn shame Tara’s already on the train to NYC, but Jaylen’ll be free by Wednesday if we need another grifter.  Okay, yeah, found the cousin.  Already reported missing, one Mason Holmwood.”</p><p>“Didn’t get a last name but sounds right.  Look into his wife, too.  She probably has intel for us, and Quinn likes her.  Sounded like the rest of the family’s pretty questionable, so let’s stick with her first.”</p><p>“She’s the outside view, too,” Parker said practically.  “She might not have as many sticky family feelings about it.”</p><p>Hardison laughed.  “That or she adores ‘em.  Usually goes seriously one way or the other.  A’ight.  Let’s go find out what’s got Quinn worried.  And seriously, man, scarecrows?”</p><p>Eliot just shrugged.  “Hell if I know.”</p><p>Parker started humming “If I Only Had A Brain,” and both men groaned. They’d be hearing that song all the way to Tennessee, they could already tell.</p>
<hr/><p>The trees limbs were moving but the grass wasn’t.</p><p>Quinn went still, deliberately holding himself loose and relaxed in the shadows of a rhododendron, and watched something advance down the path almost as gradually as the twilight was falling.  Slow-moving and not quite animal, it should have been terrifying in its strangeness.  Quinn shoved the fear aside for later nightmares and studied the movement instead, the way the thing advanced in odd lurches of motion, rocking first backwards and then forward.  The trees and shrubs along its route echoed the motion, first tilting away from it and then angling inward as it passed.  Some of the smaller saplings fell over onto the path, long seconds after the thing had passed.</p><p>Quinn pulled his legs in under himself slowly, bracing hands, knees, and toes on his boulder, and got ready to run if he had to.  Synthetic fibers made different sounds in the night than natural, so Quinn had deliberately worn cotton, wool, and leather for this job.  (He had to think of it as a job; trip would imply family and he couldn’t spare attention for worry.)</p><p>Whatever it was that passed by in the dark before moon-rise -- eventually, far too many heartbeats later -- creaked like a tree limb in high winds, rustled like leaves in a breeze, and stank of leaf rot and blood.</p><p>Quinn made himself breathe slow, shallow, and above all silent as he watched a tall, dark mass go by carrying a still-dripping dead body eight feet off the ground.  Whoever that had been, the body looked about his cousin’s height -- now.  When he’d still had a head attached, he’d been taller.</p><p>The rock under him shifted towards the path as the thing went by, but Quinn shifted his weight back to stay on.  He wasn’t about to touch the ground just now.</p><p>The rhododendron shivered above him, dislodging what he hoped was rain, and then fell over him.  The shelter and camouflage were more than welcome, as was the way it trapped his own heat around him.  Shivering might have been a very bad idea.</p><p>When the thing was out of both eyesight and earshot, Quinn let himself relax off high guard onto sentry alertness and waited, listening.  He didn’t pull out his phone to send the text message until the night song of frogs and cicadas started back up.</p><p>Even then, he found himself listening for moving trees.</p>
<hr/><p>Hardison heard the buzz of an incoming text, but Parker pivoted in her seat to read it to them before he had to ask.  “Quinn says, ‘Don’t come in before dawn.  I mean it.  Will send a meet point when I have one.’  When he called before, he wanted us there as soon as possible.”</p><p>Hardison shrugged, looked back at his screen, and kept typing, one program hunting for transmissions on LEO frequencies and finding them with an irritating regularity.  Most of this computer’s CPU was digging out intel on Quinn’s family, however, which would be a lot more useful tomorrow.  “Ain’t gonna be able to get there ‘til morning anyway, and that’s with all of us trading out on driving.  If it wasn’t two in the morning, this’d be a parking lot  instead of an interstate.”</p><p>Eliot nodded, most of his attention on holding their position between two eighteen-wheelers.  The truckers were going a careful seventy miles per hour, which had been their first warning a major drug bust was expected, so he was driving this leg.  Hardison needed to research and Parker hated using cruise control or paying attention to speed limits.</p><p>Eliot said, “We’re gonna want our gear for this.  Send back that it’ll be tomorrow morning, Parker.”</p><p>“There better be pancakes,” Parker complained.  “I was breaking into that pretty vault while you got the reception food.”  She started typing a reply anyway.</p><p>“Caterers were overrated.  Too much salt and the shrimp was—“</p><p>Hardison cut in over them; Eliot on a tear about bad food could go on a while.  “Mason Holmwood :  younger son and youngest child of Cam Holmwood, a local lawyer who finally retired this year.  Man got an award a couple years back for practicing law for fifty years.  And that might be important, Eliot, don’t know yet,” Hardison said before Eliot could interrupt.  “Mason’s got degrees in programming, had his name on a couple government patents on a project that should not have been scrapped--”</p><p>Eliot muttered, “Damn it, Hardison,” and meant ‘Focus.’</p><p>Hardison nodded, going on, “—and a local newspaper article from three years ago talks about Mason teaching either tai chi or something called qi gung.”</p><p>That got a grunt of interest from Eliot.  Hardison went on, “Reporter seemed to think those were the same thing, which I’m thinking they ain’t, and he’s also a fifth degree black belt in some kind of jiujitsu.”</p><p>“They ain’t the same and qi gung is less common, so that’s probably what he actually studies.  Means he might have some healing skills.  Jiujitsu… most of those schools are tricky.  Quinn wasn’t kidding about him, then.  Anything say Mason’s got woods experience?”</p><p>“He’s gotten a hunting license for the last twenty-plus years and ain’t shot himself; does that count?” Hardison asked dryly.</p><p>“Maybe,” Eliot said, but he nodded.  “Okay.  Break a leg and you can get stuck, but if he’s a local boy and been doing this a while, he should know how to signal for help.”</p><p> “Appalachian Trail Conservancy member, subscription to Backpacker magazine, regular hiking and camping gear purchases at Columbia and REI outlets, and former Boy Scout leaders, him and his wife,” Hardison reeled off.  “Think he might know what he’s doing.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Eliot said slowly.  “He might.  All right.  Youngest child, you said.  Why doesn’t Quinn want the rest of ‘em?”</p><p>Hardison snorted.  “Oh, he’s got reasons.  Mason’s wife looks okay.  Lady’s name is Rowan; history degree, cum laude, from one of the good liberal arts colleges, but she ended up working in project management for a local bank.  Job reviews say she doesn’t just fix problems, she tries to fix processes to make sure the problems don’t come repeat.</p><p>“Older brother, Anderson or Andy, is also a lawyer, younger member of daddy’s firm, and if he didn’t work a second job taking suckers hunting every fall he’d be in real financial trouble.  As it is, his credit cards are sky-high, his car’s a lease, and he ain’t got enough in savings and IRAs for how far he’s gone past fifty.  He’s got a daughter living halfway across the state, engaged and recovering from a bad car wreck.</p><p>“Middle child is their one sister, Jacqueline.  She took off for the east coast, works sales like her husband.  Jacqueline’s got two kids:  older daughter went through college on a sports scholarship, got a good job and better credit rating.  Younger son flunked out of college and has a couple of arrests for drunk and disorderly, none recent, so maybe he’s doing better.  Mixed bag, but none of ‘em have lived in the area in thirty years.</p><p>“As for Cam’s wife , Shanna, well, for a woman who used to handle paperwork for the state AlAnon programs, there’s way more’n two people worth of beer and booze on her credit card every month.”  Hardison shook his head.  “Pattern agrees with Quinn; that family’s a mess.”</p><p>Eliot nodded “Can see why Quinn ain’t asking ‘em for help.  You thinking Mason’s wife called him for help?”</p><p>Hardison nodded. “Found the records.  Someone called Quinn from a burner phone about seven this morning; cell tower records say the call was placed near Mason and Rowan’s house.”</p><p>Parker passed Hardison a bag of chips, while Eliot growled quietly about junk food.  “What do the cops think is going on?”</p><p>“Hell, you know cops.  They don’t want to say serial killer so they’re talking about terrorists, eco-terrorists this time.  No convenient gas lines out there, I guess.”  Hardison sighed.  “Sorry, man.  No.  No explosions.  They haven’t found the missing, alive or dead, and the search and rescue dog had to be sedated by the vet.  Handler sounded somewhere between freaked out and furious in the interview with the news.  This is gonna blow up into a full-on media circus inside forty-eight hours.  We’ll have to do this quick and quiet, ‘cause the good news is we now know Quinn’s real name.  Bad news is, it looks like the locals think he’s dead.  He’s taking a chance coming back.”</p><p>Eliot’s hands tightened on the wheel and that little muscle in his jaw was jumping.  Well, hell.  Fort Campbell being nearby might be a problem after all.  Hardison shrugged and brought it up.  “I can keep you off the radar for a while, Eliot.  Just keep your hair down, since it’s not military short, or do your Dr. Wes Abernathy routine.  Nobody’d take him for special ops.”</p><p>Eliot nodded.  “If I can.  That man wouldn’t be out in the woods.”</p><p>Parker waved that off with a hand holding a Pop Tart and where she’d acquired that, Hardison did not know.  “If they recognize you, claim you’re that singer, or maybe your baseball cover, just out… camping and hunting.  Like guys do.”</p><p>She clearly had no idea why they would, which was just another reason Hardison loved her.  “That could work,” he agreed.  “I’ll update their backgrounds so they show as being in Clarksville a couple days ago, and then I’ll start seeing what the hell comes up for scarecrows in the area.”  He hastily interrupted Parker.  “No.  Do <i>not</i> start singing that again, mama, please.  Get some sleep.  One of us is gonna need to drive in a while.”</p><p>Eliot just said, “Parker.  Don’t sing and I’ll stop someplace with pancakes when we get gas and trade out drivers.”</p><p>Parker beamed.  “And bacon.”</p><p>“Absolutely,” Hardison agreed and helped her steal a kiss when she worked her way past him to get the blanket out of Lucille’s storage.  Common goals and cooperation were very important in a relationship; all the articles – and his Nana – said so.</p>
<hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The break in the tree canopy exposed pale pink sunlight tearing shreds from the grey masses of rising fog.  Blackbird swarms added their darting shadows as they swung between the dim morning and the lingering night trapped in the trees.</p><p>In the clearing, brambles grew around the edges and between the deer trails, well-fed in their compost of last fall’s rotting leaves.  Some of it was nothing more than thorn-spiked green vines, but one set of natural spikes was a wild rose twining up and through a stocky cypress tree.  To the north, an improvised trellis of ancient cedar siding had collapsed under a mass of berry brambles big enough to hide a good-sized family picnic.</p><p>It wasn’t hosting so much as a sparrow.</p><p>Dew still lay on the clover and grass covering the clearing, abandoned by the rising fog and untouched by any deer hooves or turkey wings.  The clover stood easily a foot high, full of flowers, and empty of bees or butterflies, where it wasn’t ripped away to make a churned-mud path more than a yard wide that led to the scarecrow.</p><p>Near the center of the oval clearing a black locust sapling stood three or four inches wide, either deliberately planted or left to survive by someone who’d originally missed it with a bush hog.  Since that first blessing, the tree had been making its own safety with a scattering of thorns the rose would envy.  Now, however, the sapling sagged until its new scarecrow seemed to have a hunched back.</p><p>The baseball cap pledged allegiance to the University of Kentucky, the orange and black flannel shirt might have been a claim by the University of Tennessee, but the faded denim overalls and heavy leather gloves were sworn only to manual labor.  The blood stains on all of it stood mute and rusty brown.</p><p>So far, no flies had landed, but they’d be there later.  After the ground quit vibrating and the bitter reek in the air faded.  When the sharp-edged, inaudible hum stopped again.  Or maybe not until the barely visible, cobwebbed shadows from the forest to the scarecrow vanished again.</p><p>Across the field, the ground dropped away to the old cart trail that saw more ATVs these last few years than horses or hiking boots.  The fluorescent yellow sign warned against trespassing or hunting, but it was there because it was needed.  Sooner or later, someone would come and see and then maybe the scarecrow would finally have company.</p>
<hr/><p>Parker pulled up at the curb, automatically leaving them an easy exit, and shut the van down as she eyed the tree-shaded house.  It had actual roses out front, red and pink and white, and purple things blooming along the curb, and it wasn’t even the prettiest yard in the neighborhood.  Best trees for climbing, though.  “Huh.  I thought Hollywood made up places like this.”</p><p>Eliot stretched and yawned, casual other than his eyes scanning the neighborhood the way he checked out suspiciously-empty warehouses.  “Nah.  Some cities have ‘em.”</p><p>“And they don’t all suck,” Hardison added, rubbing Parker’s shoulder as he slung his laptop bag over his shoulder.</p><p>All three of them stilled when a dark green station wagon swung in ahead of them and parked.  It was one of the older, boxy Subarus, which meant it had all-wheel drive and decent carrying capacity for gear or loot behind those tinted windows.  And local tags.</p><p>Parker would have bought it for a job here, too.</p><p>Quinn opened the door, a camo cap mostly covering his hair.  He was moving wrong, tail end of a fight or a three-week job wrong, so Parker skipped over to get a shoulder under him.  Hardison took a few seconds longer to recognize him, but he really wasn’t moving like himself, after all, and she didn’t think any of them had ever seen Quinn in clothes this casual.  He looked like Eliot trying to infiltrate a militia:  mud-stained boots, what Eliot called ‘properly lived-in jeans, not torn-to-fashion crap,’ a faded green t-shirt under a soft, thick brown and green flannel shirt Parker immediately resolved to steal later, and an old, supple leather jacket lined with real sheepskin, collar turned up around his neck.</p><p>He was also cold-pale, his lips and hands a worrying blue-white color.  His car keys were jingling because he was shivering.  Eliot snagged them away, nostrils flaring and then eyes narrowing.  “You got caught in that fog.  Your bag in the car?”  Quinn started to argue, and Eliot said quietly, “You need a shower.”  His eyes added some emphasis – probably about the blood- and fear-stink he was putting off – and Quinn quit arguing.</p><p>“Yeah.  Grab both duffels.”  He almost smiled when Eliot gave him a ‘no shit’ look.</p><p>Parker pulled his arm more firmly around her and made it look like he was hugging her.  “Cold and soggy.  Not good.  Your cousin will have a coffeemaker, right?”</p><p>Quinn nodded and said, “Oh, yeah.  And Rowan knows I’m coming in about now with back-up.”  He still pushed himself to walk a little faster and angled them towards the carport rather than the front door.</p><p>Hardison yawned and said, “Man.  Coffee sounds good.  Or orange juice, even.”</p><p>Parker picked the lock on the back door while Quinn was still trying to find his keys.  If he’d already forgotten Eliot had them, he needed sleep or food.  He did reach over her arm and hit the doorbell before she opened the door, but that was okay.  It was polite to warn people you liked before you came into their kitchen.  If Parker didn’t like them, she let Eliot go first and stole knives while everyone was distracted.</p><p>The house smelled yummy, like Eliot baking on a day off.  The woman by the stove had a braid of brown-blond hair, and she had a knife in her hand when she turned around.  Good.  Parker kept an eye on it and shrugged.  “Hi.  We’re Quinn’s backup, or maybe we’re the cavalry.  But we’re here to help.”</p><p>That got a smile, just enough to show happy lines by her mouth, and a nod.  “I’m Rowan.  Thank you for co—  Quinn, you look like hell.”  She set her knife on the cutting board and came to take over supporting him from Parker.  Stronger than she looked.  Good.</p><p>She started walking him through the kitchen, talking about, “I’ll find you something you can wear but you are getting in a hot shower and should have been there at least twenty minutes ago.”  She called over her shoulder, “Someone keep breakfast from burning.  Casserole should still need about five minutes.”</p><p>Quinn let her move him, but only let her have a little of his weight.  Maybe he was just being an overprotective hitter.  Parker watched them until she saw where the bathroom was; Eliot would handle breakfast.</p><p>Eliot slung both duffel bags behind the couch and went to check the oven, since Hardison was already refilling the coffeemaker.  He’d poured what was still in the pot into two mugs – one for Parker and Eliot with cream, one for him with his sugar.  Parker stole the mug, drank her half in one fast gulp, and went to prowl while Rowan was busy.</p><p>Hardison refilled the electric kettle and turned it on.  “Teapot’s out,” he explained, and Parker pointed to a hanging basket before delving back through the junk drawer.  It wasn’t very interesting, but the maps of hiking trails on the refrigerator sides looked promising:  they had markings on them and an attached clay pencil.</p><p>Eliot closed the oven after a quick sniff and came to look at the map.  He tapped an X with a time and date for 5:30 two days earlier.  A different hand had marked a trail from it off to the southeast, with notations of drops and carats that probably didn’t mean diamonds.  This wasn’t Arkansas.  “Yeah.  Starting to see why Quinn’s worried.”</p><p>The pantry behind the kitchen had a washer and dryer with a mostly-packed frame backpack on top, thick socks and hiking boots piled in front of it.  It also had a stairway up.</p><p>Parker bounced up to see if they had an interesting attic and decided theirs counted.  Half of the room was set up like one of Eliot’s workout areas, all clear space and weapons on the wall, with mats and weights on shelves.  The half with the big window had two computer desks and bookshelves full of books on everything.  Poison, plagues, pirates, martial arts, programming, and languages.</p><p>Parker skipped back down to tell Hardison about it and found Rowan measuring tea out of a tin and asking, “When did any of you last sleep?”  </p><p>Too bad.  Oh, well, Parker could prowl the rest of the house after breakfast.  She shrugged and answered.  “I slept part of the way here.  So did Eliot.  Hardison, did you get any sleep?”</p><p>He looked up from his laptop and said, “Couple hours.  It’s all still good, babe.”</p><p>Rowan nodded. “Okay.  I’ve got two guest rooms – just shove the books off the beds and futon if you have to – and the doors all lock.  I’ll show you where and you can get some sleep after breakfast.”</p><p>Eliot looked at her, one eyebrow up.  “While you go to work?”</p><p>She snorted, which made Parker grin.  “No.  While I go see if I can find Mace’s trail again.”  She pulled one pan out of the oven, poked at something, and closed the door.  “Almost done.”  She put the casserole on the stove, eyed Parker and Hardison, then pulled over a stack of post-it notes and started writing.  “It reheats well for lunch.  Instructions on the microwave,” and stuck the yellow note there.</p><p>“Tell you what,” Eliot said mildly.  “Let’s sort out the plans while we’re eating.  Get you some back-up if you’re going into the wood, for one thing.”</p><p>Rowan started to argue, then closed her eyes, mouth going tight, and nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s more sensible.”  She opened her eyes and said, “You all just got into town?”</p><p>“Would have been here by seven-thirty if not for the fog.”  Eliot was watching her like she was doing interesting things, but Parker left it to him for the moment and dug around for plates and forks.  The food smelled really good and they were all hungry despite the diner stop after midnight.</p><p>“Okay.”  Rowan pulled the cream back out of the refrigerator, too, and moved around Hardison’s laptop to put it out by the sugar as if she was used to dodging computers.  She didn’t complain like some of the diner waitresses did, anyway.</p><p>Hardison looked up from his typing and grinned at her.  “You always got a cooling pad on the table?”</p><p>“They’re cheaper than new laptops and we get hot here in the summers,” Rowan said.</p><p>“Now, see, that is logic I can appreciate.”  He held out a hand.  “And we ain’t introduced ourselves.  Nana’d have my hide.  I’m Alec Hardison, that’s Parker over there raiding your shirts—”</p><p>“And welcome to that one,” Rowan said promptly.  “I love it, but I can’t wear it in public anymore.”</p><p>Parker nodded, happily pulling on the long-sleeve purple shirt.  Soft and she could hide her picks and her taser under it without anyone noticing.  “It’s annoying when they can’t talk to our faces, yeah.”</p><p>Rowan smiled at that.  “Exactly.  But it fits you, so you’re welcome to it, and to the hot water once Quinn’s out.”</p><p>Eliot brought over the pan and started serving an egg and sausage casserole out to everyone, only leaving one plate empty.  “Quinn can get his breakfast hot when he’s out.  Rolls need to cool for a minute.  Y’all usually get fog like that?”</p><p>Rowan looked over, not actually smiling, and said, “Oh, sure.  In another two months.  When fall finally breaks hard enough to soak the last of summer out.”</p><p>“So not just no, but hell no.”  Eliot nodded and put the casserole back in the oven and brought probably half cinnamon rolls to the table on an extra plate.  He held out a hand to her.  “Eliot Spencer.”</p><p>Rowan shook his hand, but she looked like Sophie when a new actor got something right and she hadn’t expected it.  Huh.  Her shoulders came down an inch, too.  “Rowan Holmwood.  Quinn called in his favor?  Oh, thank gods.  I’m not the only one who thinks it’s all gone to hell.”</p><p>Eliot raised an eyebrow.  “Y’all knew I owed him?”</p><p>Rowan looked at him like that was one of the weirdest things she’d heard lately, which was probably not true.  “I’ve got a number for you and an envelope.  Quinn said if things ever went completely to shit and I didn’t think even the dojo could handle it, to tell them to leave it alone and call you if I couldn’t get him.”</p><p>Hardison raised an eyebrow.  “Who’s in y’all’s dojo?”  He hummed contentedly.  “And this is some amazing breakfast, ‘specially for not much notice.  Thank you.”</p><p>Rowan laughed.  “You came to help <em>me</em>; you’re most welcome.  And not my dojo.  I like yoga more since the sword style left town.”  Parker looked at Hardison and mouthed ‘sword style.  Cool!’  Rowan went on, “No, some of the dojo stayed in the area after they got out.  One more day and I was going to have help tracking Mace,” she said grimly.</p><p>“’Got out?’  Of the army?”  Eliot looked at her and got a nod.</p><p>“Sensei teaches BJJ – sorry, Brazilian jiujitsu – and kempo.”  She shook her head.  “Pressure points viciousness plus immobilization techniques pulls in the guys, especially the ones still in the reserves.  And well, if I didn’t have you, damn right I was going to take retired Special Forces.”</p><p>Eliot stopped eating long enough to put his hair up into a ponytail.  “Okay.  Anyone asks you, my name’s Wes Abernathy.”</p><p>Rowan looked up from cutting up the casserole she wasn’t eating yet.  “It should be okay.  I was already keeping the guys clear so Quinn could come in.”  She muttered, “And I will be years not-explaining this, probably.  Wes Abernathy.”  She nodded, lips moving as she repeated the name silently a few times.  “Got it.”</p><p>“Not your fault,” Eliot said, but he glanced at Hardison.  “Gonna have to be careful.”</p><p>Hardison nodded.  “Yeah, if they got your eye for how folks move, you will.  But a lot of folks will look at the longer hair and that slouch you can do and underestimate you for a few minutes.”</p><p>Rowan looked up.  “If it would help, I’ve got the good henna in house; we can dye your hair some shade of red, if you need.  That’ll be differently obvious?”</p><p>Parker grinned when Hardison started laughing.  “Thanks.  We’ll think about it.”</p><p>Eliot added, “And breakfast is excellent, and you need to eat some.  Won’t do anyone any good if you fall over.”</p><p>Rowan sighed, shoved loose strands of hair behind her ear, and had still looked up by the time Quinn was halfway across the living room.  Not bad.  Slower than Eliot, but faster than Hardison had noticed.  She nodded and sounded relieved when she said, “You look better, Quinn.”</p><p>Quinn’s hair was wet now, but he looked warm finally, so that was good.  “Left hot water for the rest of y’all.”  He came up to Rowan’s seat and hugged her, saying, “Come on, put it down for a minute.  Don’t break early on us.”</p><p>She laughed at that, sharp but not bitter, and said, “Quinn, this isn’t close to done.  I won’t break until at least three hours after it is.  Maybe in the hospital waiting room.”  She exhaled, hard, and finished, “Or the morgue.”</p><p>Quinn sighed and let her go, which made Parker tilt her head to study them both.  Huh.  He believed her?  Well, jobs were usually easier if the client didn’t have hysterics.</p><p>Quinn filled a mug with the fresh coffee and said, “You do know that’s one of the most terrifying things about you, Rowan?  Tell me what tea you’re drinking this week, eat your breakfast, and we’ll sort it out.”</p><p>“It’s in the…” She looked up and saw her teapot still on the counter.  “Okay, yes, food and caffeine.  You’re right, Wes.”</p><p>Quinn brought the teapot over, filled her mug, and handed her the honey bear.  “Call it a precaution.”</p><p>Rowan squeezed in the liquid gold and sighed.  “I always did think you’d researched me after Mace asked me to marry him….  And get some breakfast.  It’s in the oven and on the stove.”</p><p>Quinn shrugged and started loading a plate even higher than Eliot had.  “No offense, honey, but the rest of the family’s a disaster.  I needed to check.”  He sat down between her and Parker and said, “Now.  Catch us up.  What news have you got?”</p><p>“Other than you and Mace’s dad, the family is totally a disaster, so what offense?  Okay, to be fair, Jacqueline’s husband and her daughter aren’t, but Lord, she and her son both need a good hard kick on a regular basis and I <em>don’t</em> live near them.”</p><p>Rowan sipped her tea and started briefing them.  “Still no word on Mace, although I found his trail and managed to follow it for a mile and a bit before the sun was too far down and I had to pull out.”  She glanced up at Quinn.  “He wasn’t headed back to the four-wheeler for tools, he wasn’t headed to any other stand or shooting perch I know of, and I couldn’t find any tracks, so if he was following something, I don’t know what it was.”</p><p>She frowned.  “But… it was odd.  Some of the trees weren’t right.”  She glanced at Eliot, shrugged, and said, “And by not right, I mean some of the trees had turned around.  The family uses bright eyes – those things that reflect light back? – to track the paths to the stands and back to the areas they leave the four-wheelers in.  Well, the bright eyes don’t line up anymore.  At least one stand isn’t looking out over the valley anymore, and it damn well did last year when I helped repair the ladder up to it.”</p><p>Quinn said quietly, “Let’s come back to that, Rowan.”  He refilled his mug, added twice his usual cream and more sugar than he did after thirty straight hours on the job.  </p><p>Eliot caught it too, forehead creasing before Quinn caught his eyes and didn’t even shake his head, just met his eye for one of their hitter talks.  Parker couldn’t entirely decode this one.</p><p>Quinn looked back at Rowan.  “What’s the rest of the family doing?  If you called me, I’m assuming you told them Mace didn’t come out?”</p><p>“Yeah, I told them.  For all that changed anything.”  She rubbed her forehead, straightened again.  “His dad’s worried but he’s not… Cam’s worried, but not doing anything.”  She glanced at Quinn.  “And that worries <em>me</em>.  He’s letting Shanna do most of the talking, too, and she’s pretending everything is just fine.”</p><p>Quinn frowned.  “He’s… what, past seventy-five now?”  When she nodded, Quinn sighed.  “Hell.  He’s likely starting to slip then, hate to tell you.  His daddy didn’t make it this long, and they both had heart issues.  What about the rest of them, Rowan?”</p><p>Hardison made a note to hack the local pharmacies for prescriptions and kept eating and listening while Rowan went on, “Andy is, as usual, blowing it off.  Mace’s older brother, my father-in-law’s former law partner,” she added to Hardison.  Her eyes narrowed a little, fine lines appearing between and around her eyes.  “Andy’s hiding something, Quinn, and I can’t get him to admit what, yet.  I’m just his baby brother’s wife, what do I know?”</p><p>Quinn nodded once.  “You think he let the loggers in.”</p><p>“Well, I know damn well Cam didn’t.  He’d not only have told us, he’d have asked us to stop by the first afternoon and make sure nothing was getting cut that shouldn’t.  So. The only people who could authorize it and have a company believe it would be family.  Cam didn’t, which leaves Mace, Andy, or Shanna.  I know Mace didn’t.  ]Shanna likes petty, behind the scenes manipulation, not a logging crew of ten?  So either Cam’s worse off than I think – and he could be, I see him maybe once a week for brunch – or Andy’s up to something.”  More slowly, Rowan finished, “But he’d still have to think he could get it past Cam.  It probably is Shanna.  Damn it.”</p><p>Parker listened while taking her third cinnamon roll apart to see if she could identify the nuts.  It tasted like more than just pecans.  “So.  Your husband’s missing, his dad’s acting out of character, and the rest of the family is blowing it off?”</p><p>Rowan managed a smile.  “Yours is much shorter.  Yes.”</p><p>Hardison shrugged without looking up from his laptop.  “You’ve got a boatload of stress. It happens.  Now.  Your father-in-law is on a bunch of medications for his heart and blood pressure, a couple for diabetes.”  He glanced up.  “But I got two prescriptions for meds that get used off-label a lot for beginning dementia.”</p><p>Parker leaned in and set her chin on her fist.  Rowan’s Russian wasn’t exactly up to date, but it was a nice collection of obscenities, and when she ran out of Russian she just kept right on in much more creative English.</p><p>Quinn refilled her mug and didn’t try to interrupt, so Leverage let her have a couple minutes to blow off steam.</p><p>She finished with one that got an approving nod from Hardison about, “And may your Internet give you nothing but Soviet-era news, and your computer max its hard drive on viruses and Trojans.”</p><p>When she didn’t restart in another language – Parker gave it a few seconds -- Eliot pushed Rowan’s mug towards her.  “Drink that, then explain what that told you?”</p><p>She drank it and said, “It tells me I’d better hide the strongbox again, but that may not apply here.  All right.  Let me think, now my blood pressure’s back down.”  She finally sighed.  “It tells me jack and shit, Wes.  I mean, yeah, it updates the family politics, but for this?  No.  Still could just as easily have been Andy who gave permission as Shanna.  Neither of them will give me a straight answer.”  Something in her eyes and jaw hardened and Parker smiled at her.</p><p>“It’s okay.  We’ll find out what happened.”  She glanced at Hardison.  “Nate would have started with the family.”</p><p>Hardison nodded, fingers flying again.  “And if the logging company’s insurance hasn’t, we will.  On it.  If not them… maybe the search and rescue trainers.  They’d want to know what spooked that poor dog.  Okay.  We’re at forty-eight hours – law enforcement should be starting to talk about search and rescue.”</p><p>Eliot just looked at Quinn, who’d gone even more still.  “What’s the problem with that?”</p><p>Quinn sighed.  “The forest is furious.  Anyone who isn’t family won’t live through the night there.  And I was scared to set foot on the ground ‘til sunrise, Eliot.”</p><p>“New name or not, you’re still family,” Rowan pointed out quietly.</p><p>“Honey, I don’t remember the last time I’ve heard anyone use my old name, and I damn well wasn’t risking it last night.  There was a walking tree.”</p><p>“There was a <em>what</em>?”  Hardison stopped typing and stared at him.  Eliot shifted to watch him too.</p><p>Quinn turned and looked straight at Hardison.  “Something over twenty feet tall tore a trail through the land last night, Hardison.  It was carrying most of a body -- <em>not</em> Mace’s, Rowan – and I have never been so frightened in my life.”</p><p>Rowan was as pale as she’d been red earlier.  “Quinn.  You realize no one in the family knows anymore <em>exactly</em> what the bargain was?”</p><p>Quinn lifted an eyebrow.  “Maybe they don’t.  If you don’t, that is.”</p><p>She scrubbed her face with her hands; barely shaking now.  Good.  “If you have been wandering through my files, digital or paper, I am never sending you brownies again.”  She sighed, though, and said, “And maybe.  Just maybe.  I have a couple leads, but your great-great-grandfather’s handwriting was horrible, all right?”</p><p>Parker shrugged.  “I’m good with handwritings.  What kind of bargain are we talking?”</p><p>“Y’all realize this sounds like we’re in a horror movie?” Hardison asked.</p><p>Eliot was still watching Quinn and Rowan.  “Are we?”</p><p>Rowan’s mouth twisted up, but her eyes weren’t smiling.  “Maybe.  Probably.”</p><p>“Yes,” Quinn said quietly.  “We are.  It’s just a question of how many bodies get piled up.  How dry’s the summer been?”</p><p>“Not bad.  Wet enough to produce the fog this morning.”  Rowan was unbraiding her hair absently.  “The loggers probably helped with that, poor souls.”</p><p>Eliot was still watching them both, utterly motionless.  “So.  Why don’t y’all tell us this story and we can make plans?”</p><p>There it was.  Parker raised her head in a sharp motion she’d copied from Nate; it worked for her too, so why not?  When all of them turned to her, she said firmly, “Together.  We make the plans together, Eliot.”  She held his eyes until they warmed, until the corner of his mouth quirked up the way it did when he lost arguments about food, and beer, and who was playing honeypot for the mark this time.  Once he did, she nodded and turned to Rowan and Quinn.</p><p>“So?  Tell us this story.  It sounds like one of the really old fairytales, the bloody ones.”</p><p>Parker wasn’t surprised when Rowan smiled a little at that.  Smiled sadly, and nodded, and told them.</p>
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